Chapter 14 Cassie #2
“I thought he was the perfect guy. Handsome, rich, ambitious.”
“He was. He is.”
“Okay,” Darren simply says.
He sounds so sad that I want to hug him. I hate Paris and everything about it.
“What if I wanted to come home now?”
“What about him?”
When I announced our wedding—our surprise wedding, with three days’ notice—I thought that would be it, Darren’s last chance to make a move.
He had to act or risk losing me forever.
And he did do something. He came and even made sure we had a moment alone before the ceremony.
He told me he was sorry for not being there for me at my father’s funeral.
He really wished he could have come, if only I’d told him.
We both knew what it meant. If he had, I wouldn’t have met Olivier.
But he didn’t say that out loud. I waited for something more.
A declaration of undying love. A plea to not go ahead with the wedding.
Him getting down on one knee, saying he’d marry me instead.
But none of that happened. I was already standing in a white dress.
I’d bought three turquoise chiffon bridesmaid dresses at a local store, the only color left over on the sales rack.
I’d begged Brianna to put together an extremely last-minute bachelorette party for me.
I’d paid for the flowers, the fucking cake.
Almost everyone I knew—all thirty of them—were in my living room, waiting for me to walk down the aisle and marry a man they thought was so much better than me.
What was I supposed to do?
In the moment, it felt like there was only one answer.
So I married Olivier for the second time.
I told myself I’d drown my sorrows in Paris.
By the time we were on the plane, I found a renewed urge within me.
I’d rub it all in his face. I’d rub every moment of it so hard that Darren would cave eventually.
I had more tricks up my sleeve: the French honeymoon might do it.
“Let’s pretend Olivier doesn’t exist for a second,” I say, my heart twitching. Why is this so hard? Why is everything always so fucking hard?
In truth, the Paris trip wasn’t only about Darren.
That prissy little bitch who pretends to be my sister always thought she was French.
When we were kids, she talked about nothing but going to Pareeeee, where her daddy would be.
She carried that embroidered blanket with the French lettering everywhere, claiming he had given it to her.
People thought it was so endearing, that little girl who dreamed of her foreign family, after all she’d gone through.
In truth, we all knew her mom was a junkie and her dad was French like I’m Kim freaKing Kardashian.
It wasn’t until much later, when she was on her deathbed, that Mom told me snippets about Taylor’s family. She was barely coherent by then, whispering half-formed sentences in between extended breaks of loud breathing.
Wish she could have met him
Denis, his name
No current address
In Paris, maybe
Didn’t want
Her hopes up
I was angry then, angry always, when it came to Taylor. Mom was dying, and that’s what she was thinking about? That’s what she wanted to waste her breath on? I never knew if she told Taylor this or just me. I’d never admit out loud that Taylor was maybe—probably—right about her dad all along.
When I met Olivier outside my father’s house, all I could think about was that Taylor would keel over with jealousy when she found out that I’d met a handsome guy from Paris. I didn’t care if he was actually from there; he would be in my version.
Darren sighs, bringing me back to our conversation.
“I can’t tell if you’re messing with me,” he says. “Please tell me, because I think I’m still in love with you.”
My heart melts. This is what I’ve wanted to hear all along.
Below me, cars honk and bicycles swirl in and out of traffic.
It’s rush hour, and I keep an eye out for a dark-haired man dressed in navy slacks and the ridiculous white sneakers he cleans every night with an old toothbrush.
He tries so hard with the little he’s got. He tries and he fails.
And then I admit it out loud: “I love you too.”
“Cassie?”
It’s like I’m hit with a Taser. A few seconds pass before I accept the fact that it wasn’t Darren’s voice, and it was definitely not coming through my phone. I turn around and there’s Olivier, all smiles.
“Hi!” I press the phone against my thigh, hardly breathing.
“Who were you talking to?” he says.
“Taylor.”
Even if he only heard that last part, Olivier has lived with us long enough to know that Taylor and I don’t exactly “love” all over each other.
“What did she want?” Olivier asks, closing the balcony door behind him.
It’s a tight space up here, and we stand a few feet apart from each other, while below us the world moves on.
“She was freaking out because she thought there was someone in the house.”
He rolls his eyes. “And how does she think you’re going to help from the other side of the world?”
“Right?” I shake my head. “She needs to get a life.”
“She’s a special one, your sister. I know you feel for her, but it might be time she move out, don’t you think? We need our own space, you and me. We’re married and we have to think about us.”
I swallow hard. He still thinks this is all going to work out, that we’ll stay in Paris for a few more days and then go home to start our husband-and-wife life. All I can think is that I need to not be here when he finds out that none of this is going to happen.
“Let’s not worry about her right now. We’re on our honeymoon.” I try to sound casual as I push past him to head back inside the room. I want to check my phone, but I’m sure Darren has hung up by now.
I’m still in the doorframe when Olivier grabs my wrist a little too hard. “I think we have more talking to do.”
“Ouch!” I say loudly.
He immediately lets go of my hand and I make a big show of rubbing it, my face contorted in manufactured pain.
“Sorry.” He sits down in one of the chairs. “Please. Let’s talk.”
My mouth goes dry, my legs wobbly. He knows it wasn’t Taylor on the phone.
I could tell him I’m too tired, not in the mood, but then he’d follow me inside, where we’d be all alone.
Out here there are passersby below and people in the building across the street, their shadows occasionally moving behind the windows. Witnesses, just in case.
I lean against the railing, as far away from him as possible.
“I know things have been off between us over the last few weeks,” he starts. “And if that made you think twice about being with me, then I’m really sorry.”
What if he checks the safe? I need to get him out of here.
“I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for what you did for me,” Olivier continues, giving no indication that he senses the turmoil inside me, “and I know you’ve probably regretted marrying me at least once.”
He waits for my reaction, but I’m too confused to even make one up.
Are we supposed to be honest with each other now?
His eyes go red and start brimming with tears.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, rendering me even more speechless than I already was.
I was so close to getting out of here. Out of this.
“I really believe we could have a great life together.” His voice is shaking now. “I was surprised that you’d called the Realtor while we were here. Why now? But if that’s what you want, of course that’s fine with me. Every couple has to make compromises.”
The words spill out of me. “We’re not a real couple.”
Olivier jerks back, like I slapped him. If he’s acting, he’s really good at it. “Please don’t say that. I love you, Cassie.”
He gets up and starts coming my way. A nervous laugh escapes me, sending hurt all over his face. He stares at me, breathing deeply, his fists clenched. I step away from the railing, like I burned myself.
“I’ll take you on a honeymoon here every year,” he says, waving at the air between us. “Or anywhere you’d like. Maybe we got married for the wrong reason, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make it right.” But I don’t want to make it right, not with him. “Please, Cassie. Say something.”
So I do. I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Let’s go get a drink.” I reach for his hand. “I’m sorry about our fight, too. There’s so much of Paris I haven’t seen yet.”
His face breaks into a smile, all the tension diffused.
I need to get us away from this room, from the safe and the missing passport.
The airline will call back and I’ll change my flight.
I’ll be gone long before Olivier knows it.
One more drink won’t kill me. All that really matters is that I’m not here when he realizes I’ve ruined his life.